


love me, touch me, like you do

by cookiethewriter



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insecurities, M/M, Rimming, Smut, also I suck at making up titles but um, and some feelings, as in roman is the only one actually in college, both done by callihan, just... shameless smut, pretend you like it, sorta college!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8655454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethewriter/pseuds/cookiethewriter
Summary: A three or four-parter which includes chubby!Roman, Ambreigns, and all that might entail.





	1. Upgrade

**Author's Note:**

> this was written due to the lack of chubby!Roman Ambreigns fics in the community. (there ARE a few, and I've read/enjoyed them, but I need more dang it. I'm insatiable.) it's in a 1-2 day span, which I make pretty clear with time stamps, but figured I'd say so up here. enjoy, heathens.
> 
> (also, I just want for it to be known that I love Sami Callihan and am only making him a terrible ex this one time. Promise.)

_2:25pm_

Blue eyes stared back down at the watch on his wrist - the one that his boyfriend had given him on his last birthday, the one he never took off, the only thing aside from that very boyfriend that he held dear - and let out what was probably the tenth groan of frustration when it wasn’t yet time for the other to wrap up his final classes for the summer; it had been Dean’s idea to pick Roman up from school instead of waiting for him at his parent’s house in Florida like he always did, which had come to a huge surprise to the dark-haired because he _knew_  that that sort of thing felt a little sappy, a little too Hallmark movie-y for the light-haired, but he relented.

But as it neared 2:30pm, Dean grew weary of waiting in the school parking lot and had all-but run through the large campus that he could easily navigate on his own until he found himself out of the right building.

Seating himself on the stone wall, he kicks the heels of his boots against the hard surface, drumming his fingers on the sides, head bobbing to music only he could hear.

Odds were, Roman would want to get as much packing done tonight as possible, seeing as how he had until the end of the week - today being Wednesday - to clear his stuff out of his dorm, and while he was no slouch, Dean would have much preferred spending the rest of the day rolling around in Roman’s sheets.

_2:29pm_

This was going to be the longest minute of his life, he was sure, and he hops off of the stone wall and paces around, throwing punches to the air as if it’s a punching bag, or Roman’s ex, or _his_  ex, fists calculated and quick. When that didn’t make the time tick faster, he hopped in place, his light-brown curls flopping messily atop his head and blocking his vision for all of two seconds before a warm breeze blew it back.

_2:30pm_

****Brrrrrrrrrrrrng!** **

The speed at which people flew out of the school building was almost inhuman, to the point where Dean had to fly back to the stone wall and lean away so as not to get trampled and pulled along with the current of students. His eyes were already searching the crowd for that honey-yellow football jersey, the dark hair pulled into either a bun or a ponytail, the brown eyes that always seemed to find his blue ones at the same exact time.

Roman was the last person out of the building, but that didn’t matter, because most of the others had cleared out to head back to their dorms, leaving the light-haired to jump off of the wall and run straight at him, wrapping his arms around his waist and feeling Roman’s arm around his back, raking his short nails up and down as his other hand holds the strap of his backpack.

“Hey, baby boy. I thought you weren’t getting in until tonight?”

A shiver rolled down his spine at the affectionate name, and Dean fixed the other with a heated look that answered a lot of other questions but not _that_  one. So, to answer, the light-haired shrugged with one shoulder. “Couldn’t wait. Figured we could start on some packin’ and then you can pack _me_  with your huge--”

“Oh my god,” to muffle the rest of that sentence, the dark-haired pushed Dean’s face into his chest, which resulted in a loud laugh followed by a bite to his pectoral, hot underneath the thin jersey, which resulted in Roman’s yip of pain and smack to the back of his boyfriend’s head. “If you’re gonna be a brat, you might not _get it._ ”

An empty threat was still a threat, even if Dean saw right through it. Pulling away and dropping his hand into the back pocket of Roman’s jeans with an impish grin, he started their walking to the dorm he’d come to memorize the path to, no matter where he was. It had become like a second home to him.

(His first home was Roman Joseph Reigns.)

* * *

“Hey hey, Roman!” the call of his classmate, Seth Rollins, beckoned the football captain over to the rest of the team, his right hand dropping the strap of his backpack to greet the other with a high five, his left wrapped around Dean and clutching his shoulder. Seth didn’t acknowledge Dean, which wasn’t any different than normal, but still made the light-haired bristle. Roman’s fingers gripped and squeezed his shoulder. “Few guys and I are goin’ to the gym for a while, feel like comin’ with?”

“Uh, Seth?” usually, Roman would have accepted with the exception that Dean be able to come along, but there was nothing more the Samoan wanted than to get started on packing… and, the __other__  packing that Dean had mentioned. Angling his head toward Dean, he says, “Kinda got a boyfriend under my arm, here? Can’t just leave him in my room for a few hours.”

Someone behind Seth that Roman didn’t see said, loudly, “Yeah, wouldn’t want him to steal one’a your trophies and pawn it off or somethin’.”

Dean was _well aware_  of the fact that nobody on the football team liked him, thought he was trailer trash - some thug who made Roman fall in love with him so that they could get married and he could run away with his family’s fortune. And he was also well aware that, multiple times, _in his presence no less,_ Roman had told them all off, had defended him, told them that ‘He isn’t trash’ and ‘He _isn’t_  a criminal’. And there were times when he would believe him, too, the words that Roman expressed with such conviction and love and protection.

“Nah, I wouldn’t steal a _trophy _.__  You're not thinkin’ big enough, pal--”

Dean’s comeback is snapped in half when a voice from behind them talks over his shoulder, making him freeze up. “What would _you_  know about big? I mean, aside from that ape of a man you’ve got beside you.”

And the air around him changes, growing cold and charged and he feels Roman’s body tense up beside him; he’d always had insecurities with his weight, but he was built like a football player: broad shoulders, thick muscles in his arms and legs, big in all the right places… and, yeah, he had a bit of a butt, but Dean _fucking loved his butt _.__  And Roman _knew_  that.

Pulling his hand out of his boyfriend’s back pocket and rearing his arm back to try to catch the new voice in the stomach with his elbow, he turns his body around, before turning his head to see the spiteful smirk of his ex-boyfriend, Sami Callihan, leering over at him, his hand idly scratching at the back of his head to scratch an itch Dean knew he’d never reach.

“Beat it, Callihan. Before I fucking beat _you _.__ ”

“Off? I don’t think the Roman Empire would like that. Would ya’, big guy?”

Roman doesn’t answer. But, the rest of the football team do, rallying around Dean. Even Seth stands with him.

“No one talks to our Captain like that. Talk shit, get hit!”

Seth throws the first punch, but Callihan’s already moved away, tugging his arm forward and flipping him over his shoulder; he and Dean had, once, signed up for some couple’s martial-arts thing, before he caught him blowing the instructor who he’d _also_  bummed some dope from. So, he’s got a slight advantage against the football team… but, not against Dean, who follows his side-step and feeds him a nasty clothesline and makes his whole body flip around, face slamming into the brick path below.

He lets the football team take care of him after that, picking Roman’s backpack up off of the ground and grabbing his hand, pulling him along, whispering nasty things under his breath that he hoped would get a rise out of his boyfriend.

It does terrible, sad things to him when it doesn’t.

* * *

They get inside Roman’s dorm and about two steps toward the bed when he hears his boyfriend’s wet sniffle, and looking at him, he watches as the Samoan rubs his thumb and middle finger into his eyes, wiping the moistness from under them before he stares at the floor, lips pulled down in a frown.

“Hey, Ro… you know he’s just being a dick, right?” dropping the backpack and his leather jacket down on top of it, he stands in his - Roman’s, it’s Roman’s - Georgia Tech souvenir tee shirt, his hands planted on his hips. “Come on, baby, you know I don’t care about all that crap. He’s just a jealous fuckstick and can’t stand the fact that I’ve fuckin’ _upgraded_.” When brown eyes finally meet his, the expression is so small, and it doesn’t quite fit the rest of him. Puffing his cheeks out and then blowing the air out, Dean walks over and ducks his body a little, a smile on his face that no one else could admit to seeing before. “He can’t stand the fact that I love the most perfect guy in the world.”

Huffing a laugh, Roman rolls his eyes and pushes the light-haired out of his face, letting his fingers linger along his cheeks and jaw, blinking in awe. “You shaved?”

“Well, _yeah._ ” As if the reason is obvious, which it is, and Dean croons, “See, I wasn’t gonna, but I’m gonna be meetin’ up with this hot guy and I wanted to make a lasting impression, in some other form than beard-burn.”

The burning blush on Roman’s tan face has him laughing, placing a kiss to his warm cheek, before he wraps his arms around his neck. “Whaddaya say, Ro, hm? We leave the packing for later, and go to bed? It feels like forever since I’ve been home.”

“You were _just_  in Florida this morning.”

“No.” Dean leans in, pushing his lips to Roman’s jaw and suckling at the stubble growing around his goatee. When Roman moans against the ministrations, the light-haired grins before leaning back enough to kiss him on the lips deeply. There, he murmurs, “ _You’re_  my home.”

And Dean’s said that before, to Roman; he’d grown up in a shitty part of Cincinnati, pretty much raised himself in a shitty apartment with a shittier drugged-up-whore mother, but had never called anything his home. Had never felt comfortable, safe, anywhere. Before Roman. Now, the Samoan and his family were the only ones he could ever feel that sort of walls-down safety with, able to completely be himself around, and that was nice.

Roman led the light-haired backwards until he felt the edge of the bed behind his knees, and it didn’t take much to make his knees bend and fall back onto the dark sheets. Pawing at his shirt and lifting it over his head, Dean made quick work of shedding his clothes, keeping his black boxer briefs on before he sat up and made quick work of removing his boyfriend’s basketball shorts, sliding them down and hugging around his larger waist, unabashedly pawing at one of his round ass cheeks and snuffling against the slightly soft stomach he loved.

When he felt his boyfriend’s hard-on through his boxers, he concluded that he was loving this, too, and he grabbed a handful of his ass and pushed his hips to his face, Dean’s mouth latching onto the bulge inside the underwear and mouthing up and down the length of it.

“Mmh, Dean,” groans Roman, his hand tangling in light-brown curls, rocking his hips a little but otherwise trying not to move. “Can’t even wait ‘til I get in bed, huh?” He bites his lip, and finds himself relieved that he doesn’t have a roommate, not for the first time. “ _God_ , your mouth feels amazing…” Another groan, and Roman pushes his head away, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck before he motions with his chin to back up.

And if what Dean does as he complies is classified as a scramble, well, so be it.

Laying back against Roman’s pillows and pulling the pillowcases up to his nose, he breathes in deeply; Roman’s always had this unique aroma, thanks to the sweet-smelling coconut-scented conditioner he'd used since middle school, and Dean’s long-since committed the scent to memory, so when he presses the pillow into his face he can’t help but huff out before putting it behind his head, sitting himself up a bit more, before he reaches out and makes grabby-hands towards Roman.

“C’mon, big dooooog,” he croons, cheeks flushed and spittle on his lower lip.

And Roman’s never been one to deny Dean anything. Not as children, when he’d let him play on the swing first. Certainly not as teenagers, when he let Dean drag him out in the middle of the night to go skinny-dipping or make out under the stars. Now, as adults, it only got worse, and while he could probably admit that he was a total pushover when it came to certain things, he was also worse of one with Dean.

So, crawling onto the bed and shedding off his football jersey - leaving him in this gray muscle tank that accentuated the hard muscle of his chest and shoulders - he kneels over Dean and with zero hesitation, pushes his lips to his, kissing his lips so deeply that when they broke apart, they were panting and their lips were kiss-swollen.

Dean’s hands traced up and down his sides, and when they reached Roman’s hips, the former’s hands grabbed at the soft flesh there and kneaded it in his hands, rubbing this way and that and squeezing and driving the Captain absolutely fucking _crazy_. His body had always been responsive to Dean. Just like the other’s was responsive to him, as he ran his own hands over Dean’s nipples and pressed his thumbs over and around them until they pebbled under his skin.

“Ah…”

“Like that, babe?”

“You kn- oh, _fuck _.__ ”

Leaning in to kiss at his jaw, Roman’s hands roamed downward until they reached the other’s thighs, and he took extra time to knead the flesh there; Dean was athletic too, with lean muscle and bulging biceps, but he was rounded out with soft flesh in his ass and thighs, and Roman loved it. He wouldn’t have known what to do with someone who was thin and meatless. After all, he wasn’t.

…insecurities settled back into his stomach, and he gasped against the other’s skin, arching up a little so he wasn’t pushing against the other’s body anywhere. What if he hurt him? What if he was heavier than he thought, and it hurt Dean? He didn’t hear any complaints, sure, and Dean wasn't the type of person to not let his thoughts be heard. His large hands pressed and scraped against the soft, pale thighs of his boyfriend and, when he heard a mewl of content followed by a growl of frustration, he leaned back, face flushed and a little sweaty.

“The fuck are you doing?”

He got no answer.

Dean wriggled his body and arched his hips, bumping them with Roman’s, his hands touching everything he could and letting out a low whine when the latter twisted his body away. “You still worked up over what he said, Ro? _God _.__ ” His voice took on this tone like he’d swallowed rocks, hoarse with want, hoarse like he’d blown his voice box or something before he leans up on his elbows. “Hey.”

Roman’s face was turned away a little, and the light-haired reached up with one hand and dragged the back of his fingers along his face; he wasn’t known to be tender, would rather get fucked right into the mattress and accept the aftercare later, but… he’d always had this soft spot for the Samoan, had always had this part inside him that he gave into sometimes, where his hands would touch sans the intention of working him up. Sometimes, he couldn’t help it. Loving Roman meant that he had to be okay with the soft stuff sometimes, or would have to give it, and he’d been doing it since they were teenagers. Wasn’t about to stop now.

His boyfriend’s face turned back to look at him, brown into blue; Dean could remember when, in high school, he’d put blue-gray contacts in, self-conscious about the way he looked even when most of the people in the school had no problems with it. Through a lot of convincing, Dean had finally made him stop, because the loving looks he always got didn’t look the same behind those lighter eyes, much preferring the dark of his brown eyes that darkened to black with lust when he pulled him into the locker room and sucked marks into his skin.

Brown blinked, looking into blue like he was love personified, before Dean sat up and scooted to the side a little - when Roman got insecure, it would take too long to convince him what he already knew, and he was hard and Ro was fucking _hard_  and they both wanted. So, when his boyfriend fixed him with a confused tilt of his head, Dean grinned and angled his head, pointing to the pillow, and when he realized what it was the other wanted, his boyfriend leaned in to kiss his lips, taking the place where he’d been, slipping his boxers down, his dick obscenely standing at half-mast.

Dean took that as a challenge and pulled his briefs down, though he smirked in that knowing, smoldering way when his own stood against the flat planes of his stomach, and crawled to sit on Roman’s waist so that his ass rubbed right against the other’s dick. His hands made fast work of stripping the larger man of his shirt, and leaning forward, he pitches a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to one of his nipples until it’s hard in his mouth and does the same to the other. The spit trail makes Roman shiver, his hand flying up to tangle in the other’s messy curls, stuck between pulling him up for a kiss and pushing him down where he wants him.

Letting the other’s hand guide him, Dean gives in to the pressure, his head lowering from the man’s chest and running spit-slick lips over the skin of his diaphragm, stomach, and crawling backwards when he reached his navel. He sucked a bruise into his hips, nipped at Roman’s thighs and bit into one experimentally, raking his teeth against the caramel flesh and hearing a hiss from the other’s mouth.

“Like _that _,__  baby?”

“Mmmmmmhm.”

Crawling until he could easily take the other into his mouth, he wrapped a hand around his length and didn’t wait for the go ahead, his tongue lolling out to press into the head before he dragged it down his length, his lips closing around the hot, heavy dick he knew every vein and dip and curve of by heart. Closing his eyes, he worked him over in the ways only he knew how, sucking as much as he could down and his hand taking up the rest, pumping the rest of it, twisting and squeezing and working up a rhythm he knew was too slow, the slick of his spit dripping down the other’s dick.

Roman’s fingers tighten in his hair, making him moan, and he moves his hand to fit more into his mouth, the tip pressing into the back of his throat and he feels it pulse, his body thrumming with need, and he slips his mouth off with a satisfying  _pop_  and scoots up again. Reaching under the other’s head, he kisses him hard, mouth hot and wet and Roman’s tongue swirling around to lap up everything he could, tasting a bit of himself on the other’s tongue and shuddering.

“Fuckin’ want you so bad,” Dean moaned, talking against his lips, gasping for breath when his boyfriend’s hard dick slaps against the meat of his ass and he rocks back on it. Before Roman could protest, he’s already being pawed at as the other sits up and hovers his ass on top of his length, and he lowers himself onto his spit and precum-slick dick, and the other swallows.

“You didn’t work yourself open, baby boy,” Roman moaned.

“Don’t care. ‘s a good kinda burn.”

It takes a few minutes before he’s fully inside, and despite the need thrumming through his blood making his dick hurt, Roman waits, watching Dean’s face squeeze before his mouth falls open, tongue lolling out like the over-excited dog he often drew likeness to, and he leaned down to curl himself on the other’s warm, sweat-sticky torso. “’m gonna work you so good, baby. You’re gonna s-scream my name- _fucking_ shit-” The burn fades quickly, his body familiar with the hard intrusion, before he rocks his hips.

“ _Ooooooh,_  fuck,” Roman moans, wrapping a heavy arm around Dean’s back and thrusting his hips up on every slight loss of that tight heat. Rocks turn to rolls before Dean starts to bounce slightly, ass arched upwards and jiggling as he moved against the other. His breath is ragged, his voice is shattered, and it takes a great deal of control for Dean not to bite into the flesh of his boyfriend’s chest as he fucks himself on him, his arms curled underneath himself and fingers splayed along hot skin. When he begins to pant, Dean’s hips slow, moving back to rolling so he can catch his breath, but Roman’s not moved much, and he’s achingly hard and he’s ready to take the lead.

It takes little effort to flip them over, one thick arm wrapped around Dean’s waist to halt his movements before he rolls first onto his side - and he knows Dean’s a fan of this position, too, but right now he keeps moving - and then so the other’s on his back, face pink from his high hairline to his chest, sweaty and hot and a little smile on his face, satisfaction rolling off of him. “C’mon, baby, _get it._ ”

Bringing Dean’s hips closer, Roman rocks his own forward, bringing forth a shuddering moan from his beloved and delighting in the fact that he sounds just as wrecked as he likes him. Adjusting his legs on his wider waist, the Samoan drags his fingers up and down the small waist below him, over his ribs, moving over his hard nipples and up still, until his hands rest on either of Dean’s cheeks and he all but slams their lips together, tongue and teeth and lips as he picks up the speed, deeply fucking the man below him only he ever could.

A tumble of words - _ah ah ah_  and _shit Roman shit_ \- spill from the lips still pressed against his own, trying to talk and trying to kiss at the same time, but a possessive growl is the response. They reach the edge together, Dean tipping over first, but Roman isn’t too long after, body stuttering against the intense orgasm before the latter’s left shivering from over-sensitivity.

Pulling out carefully, Roman drapes himself half-off of Dean, wrapping his arm tight around the other’s body as he feels him quake. Tucking himself as far underneath as he can, the light-haired breathes kisses against Roman’s face, nudging his cheek with his nose, before letting exhaustion drag him to sleep.


	2. Talk, Talk, Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the booooys are baaaack. the boooooys are baaaaack. (yes, I just made a hsm3 reference. no, I'm not sorry.) and this part I actually really like because there's a part at the beginning, an exchange, that always makes me laugh. and hopefully it makes you laugh too. c: enjoy!

_7:26pm_

Dean has to piss. It’s not by any means an emergency, but the restroom on this floor is down the hall a ways, and he still has to put on at the very __least__  a pair of - _Roman’s_  - pajama pants. It’s not what he’d rather be doing right now, especially when he’s still safely burrowed into his boyfriend’s body, but duty calls.

“Gotta piss, baby,” he croaks, voice hoarse, and he doesn’t pretend to wonder why; he would be the first to tell you, straight-fucking-up, that he talks and talks and talks, all the time, forever. That doesn’t stop in bed, underneath Roman, on top of Roman, _inside_  Roman… he never shuts up. Not even _for_  Roman.

He feels Roman slide his arm off of him, and almost wishes his bladder could just fuck off for another five minutes, to give him that warmth back, because he knows the minute he gets up that he’s staying up. Groaning for good measure, he crawls up and out of his Roman-sized burrow, climbing out of bed and bending down to pick up a pair of plaid pajama pants from the basket of clothes by the dresser. As he walks by, he feels Roman’s hand pinch his ass, and he looks back to flash a cheeky grin before he disappears out into the hall.

It looked as though a good number of people had left earlier in the day, probably not having too much to pack and hightailing it back to their homes in wherever-the-fuck, and that’s fine. He’s got no qualms about his junk flopping around in loose pajama pants, or about his being shirtless with dried cum splattered on his stomach. Try as one might, Dean Ambrose just didn’t really care what others thought or said.

Pushing into the bathroom and standing near the urinal, he starts what he went there to do. When he’s finished, he tucks himself back into his pants before going over to walk to the sink. Faking a look of disgust, he washes his hands quickly before reaching over to get a few paper towels, wetting them under the warm faucet before cleaning himself up.

The door opens and Dean looks up, ignoring the dirty look of one Seth Rollins as he moseyed over to the sink with his toothbrush and paste. Perhaps getting ready for a shower, but honestly? He doesn’t care enough to really think about it.

Seth, however, looks disgusted as he glances at brown-and-blue. “Could you stand to shut the hell up a little more when you come here? Jesus Christ, you’re the loudest fucking person ever.”

Grinning, he doesn’t even have to ask what he’s talking about, and he’s sure Seth knows it. “That’s like, a compliment, right? For Roman, anyway. I’ll let ‘im know you appreciate his efforts.”

“Oh, shut up, Ambrose. Get outta here, I gotta shower.”

While he could stand there and give the other shit forever, where he _really_  wanted to be was back in Roman’s dorm room, either going for round two or starting to pack, or maybe they could somehow work both. He didn’t know how, but they were creative and resourceful. Shrugging his shoulders and casting a wave over his shoulder, he walks out of the bathroom and back into the hall, strutting his way toward Roman’s room.

_7:45pm_

Roman had already started packing away some of his things by the time Dean had made it back, boxers slipped on over his hips, and rather than try to rip them back off in his never-ending tirade to fuck against every surface for the last time, the light-haired figured the sane thing to do would be to help. So, he pulled out the couple of totes that Roman had first brought with him and started to pack away the things Roman rattled off absently. The packing hadn’t taken more than an hour, but the hard part would be getting it all down to the parking lot to Roman’s SUV. Once the room was practically stripped and any food that wasn’t refrigerated was stored away, they collapsed on the empty bed and bumped fists at a job well done.

“Ya wanna go get some food?” Dean offered, lips quirked up in a smile. “Or order in? Like pizza? ‘cause I don’t know about you, but my engine’s runnin’ on empty.”

Pitching forward to place a kiss onto Dean’s forehead, the Samoan nods slightly. “Probably should get some food. But I want to be outta here by early tomorrow.”

“Think I can do that. How early’s early, like- like 11, or-”

Roman laughs, and it’s like literal sunshine. “Not _your_  early. _Regular_  early. Like 8ish.”

“Aaaaaugh.” Dean makes a dramatic display of flopping over Roman’s lap, groaning into his thigh, and it makes the other roll his eyes but pat his head fondly. “I thought you loved me- why would you do that to me?”

Rolling his eyes again, for good measure and with a little more head-rolling to match his boyfriend’s melodrama, Roman squeezes his ass and grins when the other groans. “I do love you. But I haven’t seen my folks since Christmas, remember? I can’t _just_  love you, I gotta love them too.” And when he feels Dean groan again but start to sit up, the Samoan drags him into a kiss, laughing to himself. “And loving them means getting there at a reasonable time.”

“Fine,” said against his lips, and it makes the larger man shudder, but in classic Dean fashion, the other pulls away and crawls off of the bed, leaving him all hot-and-bothered. Perhaps as punishment. Perhaps it was a challenge. Still, a little grin tilted his lips up until his mouth was diagonal, and he stood up to continue his packing.

“I’ll order some take-out. Sound good?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, lips pulled up in a grin, tongue sliding out to lick at his bottom lip.

It takes a great deal of self-restraint for Roman not to go over there and let his tongue follow the other’s back into his mouth.

_9:00pm_

One half of the room was filled with packed and stacked totes of clothes (sans an outfit for each of them, since Roman was about 90% sure he didn’t bring anything else to wear), food, stray papers and anything else Dean deemed Roman needed. By that time, they had already started digging into their respective meals - some meaty, saucy disaster for Dean and some rice, vegetables and beef for himself - falling into quiet conversation.

“How’s things back home?”

“Pre’y quiet,” there was something oddly charming about his boyfriend’s complete lack of table manners … or, maybe he was just used to it. That was probably what it was. “Your dad’s gonna retire n’ give Rosey the company, since he accepted that you didn’t want it.”

Sika Reigns was a large man, built tall and stocky, and the owner of a construction company that was mostly run out of home. He was a businessman, but ached for movement - loved working out, heavy lifting, flexing his bulging muscles … and while Roman loved his old man, loved working with his body and his hands, building houses was something he just didn’t quite grasp. Not like Rosey, his older brother.

Dean went on to say, “Your mom’s been missin’ ya. Told me she’d make lasagna tomorrow so ya got somethin’ to go home to.”

And the Samoan was a man who spoke few words when it came to tenderness - true, he practically __swore__  on the soft stuff, caresses and cuddling when they were in private, but he didn’t have as much to say about things like Dean did. His boyfriend had this knack for opening his mouth and some poetic bullshit spewing out sometimes, disguised as phrases that clawed until they could nestle themselves up against his heart and curl around it.

The words might be few, but when he said them, he _meant them_.

So when he says “I got all I’d ever need already,” and leans forward to press his lips to the Dean’s, the light-haired smiles into the kiss.

Clean-up is a lot faster when they’re finished, dropping the empty cartons into the trash and taking the plastic containers into the sink to wash out and pack away. When they’re done, they both fall back into bed, sated and feeling lazy, Dean hooking his leg between Roman’s while the latter’s arm lays underneath the former’s head, arm bent so that his fingers can curl right back into Dean’s hair to play with the light strands.

_9:39pm_

There’s nothing quite like the peace and quiet after a long day, both men blissed-out on the afterglow of Chinese take-out, wrapping up in the lazy warmth that had been trapped between them; Dean had fallen asleep against his chest a little while ago, breathing even, drool dribbling from his parted lips as he dozed on Roman’s chest. Brown eyes were staring at the ceiling, though, not quite finding the usual heaviness in his bones that usually took over around this time. His body was buzzing. He wanted to move.

When his boyfriend’s arm rested over his torso, furthermore laying claim to the man, he turns his head slightly, carding his fingers through light strands before he pulled the other’s head close to press a kiss into his hair.

On the surface, Dean Ambrose was obnoxious. Every single thing you could imagine when you thought of the word ‘brat’, he was: loud, stubborn, sometimes liked to mouth off to the wrong people… he liked to give people something to talk about, drew people to him like light called to moths. He could make everybody’s attention flock to him, and often did if he was feeling especially insufferable.

But if they could see him now, asleep, peaceful, drooling over a hot, Samoan chest … they might not think it was really him. There was this innocence to Dean’s face when he slept, this softness, the jagged lines of his difficult start in life smoothed over. A softness that didn’t otherwise belong there.

Roman could get used to this. But the digital alarm clock on his bedside table read _9:45pm_  and he was no closer to the edges of sleep than he was earlier that afternoon.

And, to make matters worse… the hand that had been over his chest had lowered to his hips, twitching fingers laying over the waistband of his boxers, and the teasingly-slow movement was getting him hard again.

Damn it.

In an attempt to release himself from the situation he’d been thrust into - _bad word choice, oh, that was bad word choice_  - he gently moves Dean’s arm back up, easing it to wrap over his shoulder so his fingers could slide into his inky-black hair. Once he was sure they were distracted enough, Roman slides his own hand back down to his boxers, adjusting himself, the fabric creating friction that he didn’t want right now before he feels a flinch from beside him.

Had he made a noise?

When he looks over, Dean’s face is scrunched up, completely unabashed by the fact that he’d left a bubbly puddle of spittle on the Samoan’s chest. It’s almost endearing, watching him wake up, but his current predicament of his hand over his junk makes heat flare onto his face, his lower lip caught in his teeth to stifle any embarrassing sound he might make by the time those sleepy blue eyes turn up to look at him.

“Whatimezit.” _What time is it _.__  Good thing Roman was fluent in sleepy-Dean.

“Almost 10. Sleep good?”

“Mm… didn’ mean’a fa’sleep…” _Didn’t mean to fall asleep._  

Uttering a chuckle, the dark-haired pulls the other’s forehead onto his lips, skin sleep-warm. “S’okay. We have to get up early, so I was gonna let you sleep.”

Using his hand to wipe at the wetness on Roman’s chest, Dean sits up a little bit, adjusting so that he was laying to his boyfriend’s side instead of draped over him. “Yer’ not sleepin’ though.”

“Mm. Can’t… _fuck _.__ ”

Blue eyes followed the movement of the other’s arm, hand pressed against a prominent bulge, before his lips turn almost diagonal, eyes growing amused and heated. “Wanna blow job?”

Rolling his eyes, Roman pulls his hand away, draping the blanket over his hips. “It ain’t ever _just_  a blow job, though. And I want to go to sleep so we can get the car packed up.” The slight pout to his boyfriend’s lips at that makes him raise a dark eyebrow. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“’m too _tired_  to do all that,” Dean complains, voice a little higher. “I could blow you, or give ya a handy.” He gets this look in his eyes, right hand already sliding under the covers and thumbing against one of the sides of the V of his hips. “ _Or…_ ”

He’s caught between curious and hesitant, but Roman humors him. “Or?”

Dean takes his hand back, instead motioning with his finger to “Turn around, baby. On your stomach.”

It doesn’t take long for Roman to put two-and-two together, but he puts on a show of being horribly inconvenienced, turning over away from Dean so that the blanket slips off of his lower half and flashes his boxer-clad ass. And the light-haired is all too happy to reach out and fondle one of his ass-cheeks. “Your fuckin’ ass is _glorious_ , man. Did I ever tell you that?”

Turning to look over his shoulder, Roman grins cheekily. “Not since the last time.”

“That’s a fuckin’ _crime _.__ ” And Dean is serious, too, if the tone of his voice is any indication. Nodding his head, he traces his hands down Roman’s sides, putting pressure on his wider hips before he straddles the back of his boyfriend’s legs in order to kiss down his spine until he got to the dimples just above his ass, nipping at them before he hooked his fingers into Roman’s boxers and slipped them down.

And, _fuck him_ , his boyfriend had a fucking __amazing__  ass.

Crawling off enough to slip the boxers down all the way, he pitches them to the side before tapping the side of his boyfriend’s knee carefully. “Hands and knees, Ro.”

Sighing mightily - because he isn’t the biggest of fans of this position, but he’d suck it up, pun intended - Roman does as he’s asked, crawling up onto his knees but crossing his arms underneath his head instead. It’s no skin off Dean’s nose, as he knee-walks right behind him and starts pawing at his ass again. Breathy sounds escape the Samoan when lips and teeth join his hands, Dean kissing and biting his way from one cheek to the other before he uses his hands to pull Roman’s cheeks apart.

It takes no time at all for him to finally put lips and tongue near his puckered hole, flattening his tongue to lick a thick stripe from his hole to the dimples of his spine, making sure to get his tongue extra wet with saliva, dragging it in brisk licks over it until he hears Roman’s small whine.

That spurred him on, and he tucked his tongue in and prodded at his boyfriend’s rim until it gave him entrance, to which he happily obliged with greedy laps and manic swirls. Roman was trying, so very hard, not to rock back into Dean’s face, but when the latter wrapped his arms under the former’s thighs to hold him in place and just _went for it_ , he couldn’t help but push back, his back arched in an obscene curve, and moan.

Content that he was wet enough for it, Dean added two fingers to the tight heat, tongue-fucking him at a delirious pace, making the larger man rock and grunt and moan. It was possibly the best Dean had ever seen him, and he appreciatively raked his unoccupied hand down the other’s back, coaxing him to stretch it to a more comfortable angle, but Roman just rolled his hips against Dean’s tongue.

“’s fuck’n _hot_ ,” Dean breathes, angling his fingers just right, not looking to stretch so much as to work him over. His other hand stopped moving down his boyfriend’s back to trace lines over his thick thighs, feeling them jiggle with the strength it was taking not to cum. Dragging bitten nails up and down the back of one meaty thigh, the light-haired groaned, lips vibrating.

Pulling his mouth off of Roman’s ass - more at his own displeasure than at Roman’s - he crooks his fingers again, and again and again until he feels the other’s body spasm slightly. “Dean…!”

“Turn over.” Roman does, but doesn’t have much time to lay down again when Dean’s mouth is on his dick, hollowing his cheeks, and the Samoan’s hips jerk forward as a shaky moan fills the bedroom before the larger hunches a little forward, a large paw reaching back to rub at the back of Dean’s neck in silent apology. Pulling his mouth away from the heavy, oversensitive length, he presses a kiss to the tip before swallowing the remnants of his boyfriend’s release.

A Cheshire-cat grin stretches across Dean’s lips before he leans upwards, kissing Roman lazily before he pushed him back down into his pillows, taking his rightful place draped over half of his body, a hand sliding up and down his boyfriend’s torso slowly. The heady smell of sweat and sex blankets over them, and it’s familiar, calming, before blue eyes slide up to meet lidded brown.

“Tired now?”

“Mmmmmhm.”

“Good.”

…

“Okay, well I’m not, but I had this dream--”

And, when Roman snores ten minutes into Dean’s convoluted story of dragons - “They spit jelly beans instead of fire, which was good ‘cause Dream Dean was cravin’ jelly beans.” - he isn’t insulted. He just keeps talking, a touch of a smile on his lips.


End file.
